


Show Pony

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Party, Butt Plugs, Cock Rings, Creampie, Discipline, Hair Braiding, Hot Dom!Javert, Leather Harnesses, M/M, Pony Play, Riding Crops, Subspace, Subspace!Valjean, Tail Plugs, Undercover Missions, ponyjean deserves all the lumps of sugar, sex in front of an audience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: When a volunteer is needed to infiltrate an elite club, Javert knows that he’s the only one who has the knowledge to achieve access to this circle of men rumored to indulge in scandalous things. With an invitation to a large mansion near Saint-Cloud in his hand, Javert arrives to mingle with a crowd of wealthy, kinky men, bringing harness, bridle, riding crop—and Jean Valjean, to compete in the yearly championship of stallions.With the jingling of metal, the red stallion came forward, eying Valjean resentfully. The bit in his mouth kept him from speaking, but even so the derision in his eyes said clearly enough what it was he thought of the steed Javert had brought. Where Valjean's body was rippling with muscle, scarred by the whip and tanned by work in the sun, Red's body was smooth and pale, taut from gentle exercise rather than backbreaking labor.Next to him, Valjean trembled. Javert hadn't yet put a bridle on him. There were no reins to pull him back when Valjean's temper rose once more and he took a threatening step forward with such an expression that the pretty red stallion took an instinctive step back.
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean, Jean Valjean/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 63
Collections: Iddy Iddy Bang Bang! 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Coin of His Shame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720177) by [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel). 



> This is an AU sequel to The Coin of His Shame, although it doesn’t require knowledge of the story - all the info you need is that they are in an established relationship and like ponyplay.

Today was the day.

Javert rose early, Valjean’s mouth hot and sweet and just a little more urgent around his cock than usual, as if he too was nervous about what the day would bring.

Javert grabbed Valjean’s chin as soon as he was finished cleaning him up to look him over. Valjean’s eyes were clear. There was a spark of arousal in them—and a more uncommon spark of trepidation. But some nervousness was to be expected. This was Valjean’s big day. And he’d never taken him out in public—not like this.

Javert swiped his thumb over Valjean’s swollen lips. “I don’t want you to talk today,” he said softly. “Starting now. Think you can do that?”

Valjean exhaled tremulously. Then he nodded.

“Good,” Javert said warmly and pulled him close to kiss him, Valjean’s lips parting for him sweetly.

Then, regretfully, Javert pushed him away and rose. Valjean washed him as he stood at his washbasin, Valjean’s hands careful and reverent. Looking down at his bent head, Javert noted once more that Valjean’s unruly, slightly curly hair had grown to an unfashionable length—Javert should have taken him to a barber weeks ago. Still, when the plan he was about to embark on had begun to unfold in his mind, Javert hadn’t been able to shake the thought of a long mane fluttering in the air, ribbons of silk woven into it.

Valjean was silent when he dried Javert, which was not unusual. Nevertheless, this prolonged silence was not a demand he’d made of Valjean before, and it seemed it had the intended effect. Valjean appeared withdrawn, yet not inattentive at all. If anything, he was more focused on Javert and his desires than he usually was—which was saying something, considering the level of Javert’s expectations.

It boded well for what was to come today.

Usually, Valjean washed himself once he’d finished with Javert. Today, Javert took over that duty, soaping every limb, scrubbing Valjean with a soft-bristled brush until his skin was clean and pink. Then he made Valjean go down onto his hands and knees and spread his legs.

He’d warmed the water for the enema, but he knew how much Valjean could take and made him take all of it and hold it for long minutes while he stroked his strong, straining body in admiration. A second enema followed, Valjean’s eyes wet and dark, although he obediently stayed silent, even when Javert gently rubbed his stomach to ease him through his cramps.

Afterward, Valjean seemed more relaxed, the trepidation gone, and in its stead his eyes had gone soft with the surrender Javert knew so well.

He ran his hands over Valjean’s body in praise. “Good,” he said again, then took a new toy from his pocket, which he’d ordered in preparation for today’s event. It was a ring of heavy steel, polished until it shone brightly—beautiful but affordable.

Javert now took hold of Valjean to first slip his cock through the ring, then one ball after the other, helping the band of steel to settle in place around the root of Valjean’s cock. Once Valjean hardened, it would help him to stay hard. Not that Valjean usually had a problem with that. Still, today would push Valjean further than he’d ever gone before.

Javert let Valjean take a few steps to allow him to get used to the weight around his genitals. After Javert’s attentions, Valjean was half hard already, and Javert smiled at the way the ring forced Valjean’s cock to jut out proudly, already stiff enough to faintly bounce with every step.

“Don’t get too excited,” he said when he gestured for Valjean to get dressed. “There’s a carriage waiting for us.”

He’d packed what he needed the night before, everything assembled with great care. He’d known, as soon as the veiled inquiry had come to him—an inquiry that came from all the way high up, higher than the prefect—that he’d have to investigate himself.

A man thought to be an English spy with allies high up in Parisian society was not exactly Javert’s usual area of investigation. The predilections said spy was reported to have, and engaged in in a very elite, secretive club, on the other hand...

Javert had known the moment he read those reports that he’d be able to do what no other man in the prefecture would be able to achieve.

He’d be able to attend the event that took place today at a private location, to mingle with everyone gathered there, with no one the wiser that Javert was a spy. No one would suspect him. The club they were about to enter catered to a very elite clientele, but for once, Javert had what it took to move freely among those men as their equal—their better, even, unless Valjean disappointed him today.

Another glance at Valjean reassured him. Valjean would make him proud today. He’d taken well to Javert’s orders. He could be fractious—but he wouldn’t be, not today. Javert had trained him well, long before he’d first heard of this spy who seemed to share some of Javert’s interests.

The carriage took them to a mansion near Saint-Cloud. During the drive Valjean was silent, his eyes warm and dark, watching Javert attentively.

When Javert reached into his pocket and placed a lump of sugar in his palm, Valjean took it from his hand, lips soft against his palm while Javert stroked his hair in affection.

“What a fine stallion you are,” he said gently. “You’ll do well today.”

The stable was prepared for them when they arrived. Javert led Valjean into his stall, the ground soft with golden straw, then made him strip and put away his clothes.

“You won’t need those for the rest of the day.”

Valjean gazed at him, silent as Javert had demanded, but less at ease now that he was in a strange place, his body bared to the eyes of anyone who would pass their stall. Javert ran a hand up and down his back.

“Easy,” he said, and after a moment, Valjean exhaled and lowered his head.

Javert had something in the valise he’d brought that he knew would soothe Valjean’s nerves. At the very least it would provide distraction.

He patted Valjean’s rump gently, then began by oiling Valjean’s body. He’d bought the oil especially for this occasion—sweet almond oil, faintly scented with sandalwood. Valjean soon stilled beneath his hands when Javert massaged the oil into his skin, limb after limb, until Valjean gleamed, naked but for the ring that kept him hard.

“Lean forward,” Javert then said and nudged Valjean against the wall.

Valjean reached out to grip the bars of the stall. His legs parted for Javert, and Javert pushed two slippery fingers into his hole, slowly sliding in and out until Valjean’s hole was loose and welcoming and Valjean shivering, his cock heavy between his thighs.

There were steps in the corridor now, but Javert ignored the sounds. Instead, he took a horse tail from his valise. Beautifully wrought from real horse hair, a luxurious, long tail of white had been fastened to a wooden plug, which was made of cherry wood he’d polished himself to a smooth red-gold.

“Relax.” Javert pressed the rounded tip of the plug against Valjean’s hole, watching as the gleaming muscle yielded and spread open for him.

He stroked Valjean’s hip as he watched him swallow the plug. The penetration made Valjean tremble again, although he took it easily until the plug was all the way inside him, his hole clenched tight around the narrowed base.

“Good,” Javert said, satisfied by the way the tail fell past Valjean’s knees in a beautiful waterfall of silvery hair. “Now strand straight and let me look at you.”

Valjean straightened and took a tentative step, drawing in a surprised breath at the stimulation. Javert could have chosen a smaller plug, especially considering the trials that were to come, but he cherished the knowledge that there was never a moment Valjean wasn’t aware of the penetration, the way it kept his body flushed and his cock straining and his eyes wide and hungry with every step he took.

Javert wrapped his fingers around Valjean’s cock and gave it a loving stroke. It had firmed up nicely, and the ring of iron that fit so snugly around the root pushed it forward, drawing even more attention to the impressive size.

“I want you like this when I show you off. You won’t disappoint me, will you?”

Valjean exhaled heavily, a sweet half-moan that made Javert’s own cock ache with the need to be where the plug was nestled now. But today was a trial for Javert as much as for Valjean. He’d get to indulge himself later—once he’d shown off his proud, half-tamed stallion.

Valjean bent his head, nuzzling against Javert’s shoulder, and Javert curved his hand around his nape. Valjean exhaled again, every inch the nervy stallion—and then someone clapped slowly, making Valjean flinch.

Javert, too, hadn’t realized that they had an audience, but he smoothed his expression before he turned around.

In the corridor outside their stall, a man in an expensive, red hunting coat stood, holding the reins of a beautiful stallion—naked like Valjean, bridle gleaming with gemstones. His mane and tail were a gorgeous, silken auburn, his cock hard and straining—though not even close to Valjean’s size, Javert couldn’t help but smugly note.

“I haven’t seen you before,” the man said, his gaze lingering on Javert with a little smirk. “Always good to see a new guest at these parties. We rarely have competition, do we, Red? Although your brute there looks like he belongs on the fields and not in the arena.”

Javert let his eyes linger on the man’s stallion—finely trained, no doubt. The knowledge that what Javert had played at with Valjean was something other men—powerful men—had indulged in here for years was enough to make Javert’s heart race with a sudden, furious want that cut as deeply as the day he’d first walked into Gisquet’s duty-room.

“You’re right,” Javert said coolly. “It takes skill to keep him biddable. Not everyone has what it takes.”

With the jingling of metal, the red stallion came forward, eying Valjean resentfully. The bit in his mouth kept him from speaking, but even so the derision in his eyes said clearly enough what it was he thought of the steed Javert had brought. Where Valjean’s body was rippling with muscle, scarred by the whip and tanned by work in the sun, Red’s body was smooth and pale, taut from gentle exercise rather than backbreaking labor.

Next to him, Valjean trembled. Javert hadn’t yet put a bridle on him. There were no reins to pull him back when Valjean’s temper rose once more and he took a threatening step forward with such an expression that the pretty red stallion took an instinctive step back.

“Back,” Javert said.

Valjean was still trembling, muscles tense, and Javert regretted all of a sudden that he couldn’t give his reins a threatening shake.

“Back, I said.”

Valjean shook his head, his chest heaving as he stared down the other stallion. Javert felt his own temper rise at such blatant disobedience.

The other man laughed. “Seems like you don’t have what it takes either,” he said derisively. “Come on, Red.”

He led his stallion away by the reins before Javert could reply.

Still furious, Javert grabbed hold of the riding crop, then clenched his hand around Valjean’s shoulder and pushed him against the side of the stall.

“Didn’t think I’d need this today,” he said through clenched teeth, “but you leave me no choice.”

Valjean groaned when the crop came down for the first time, leaving a bright red line right above where the white tail sprang from the ample curve of his buttocks. Another stroke, and Valjean groaned, shifting against the wall.

“Hold still for it, or I’ll double the amount.”

Valjean exhaled heavily, shaking his head again, but then seemed to remember his manners. He lowered his head and spread his legs, his body tense but obedient, and when Javert delivered a third stroke, placed right above the other two, he moaned softly but didn’t try to move away.

“There,” Javert said. “You only have yourself to blame. Any more of that and I’ll take you out later today with your backside bright red. You know I will.”

Perhaps he should have realized this was going to happen. This was new for both of them, after all, and as sweet as Valjean could be, he’d never entirely managed to curb that temper of his. It was probably for the best that it had happened now. Rather here, with only one observer, than later on where their host would no doubt be watching them...

“I think I’ve made it very clear that I expect you to be on your best behavior today.” Javert stepped closer, curving his hand around a buttock and stroking a hot welt with his fingertips.

Valjean was still staring at the ground, chest heaving. Beneath his gleaming skin, muscles rippled, calling attention to the thick, knotted scars that lined his back.

Javert exhaled, his fury at the insult dimming. There’d be more of that today. He’d known it was going to happen. A man of his background did not often mingle with the sort of men that made up this exclusive little gathering. Perhaps it was indeed for the best that Valjean’s little rebellion took the edge off now, before they had a larger audience.

“It was because of what he said, wasn’t it?” Javert asked. “Look at me.”

At the command, Valjean reluctantly raised his head. Javert could still see the tell-tale gleam of rebellion in Valjean’s eyes, but his pupils were wide and dark once more, his cock still achingly hard despite the riding crop.

“You’re mine,” Javert said and grabbed hold of his chin. “I’m going to show you off today, and people will look at you, and they might even whisper amongst themselves.”

Valjean swallowed, his eyes pleading, uncertain now although they had planned this for weeks.

Javert gave him a little shake.

“I know you don’t like it, but you will do it regardless, and you will be on your best behavior,” he said sternly. “And do you know why? Because you are mine, and I like looking at you. Because I want to show off my beautiful stallion—headstrong and powerful and strong enough to do anything I ask. Let them see that. Let them see that you are mine in ways they are never going to possess their spoiled little pets.”

Valjean exhaled again, tremulously this time, and when Javert released his chin, he inclined his head and gently leaned his forehead against Javert’s shoulder. Javert stroked his hair soothingly.

The bridle would make it easier for Valjean, he thought. There would be no temptation to speak. The iron in his mouth had always helped him sink deeper into that peaceful state where he could obey Javert’s orders and find pleasure in it, instead of having to be forced into submission step after step.

Javert sighed and pressed a kiss to Valjean’s hair, then straightened and gave Valjean’s backside a little slap. Valjean gasped softly, but Javert could feel the way his cock jerked against his thigh.

“Now back to work. You’re going to look your best, because I deserve the best, don’t I?”

Valjean nodded obediently, and Javert smiled. Valjean did not yet know what that entailed—but he’d soon find out.

Even for a mission like this, Javert didn’t have many funds to draw on. Most other men in his position would have found ways to increase their income through blackmail, bribery and embezzlement, but as much as Javert could these days bend rules when it came to a certain former convict, he had no desire to become a thief himself. What drove him to work so hard was a desire for respect and status, not avarice.

Still, there had been _some_ funds available, and while he wouldn’t be able to decorate Valjean in gold and gleaming jewels, he’d always preferred the sturdy elegance of black leather anyway.

But first, he’d have to deal with his unruly stallion’s mane.

“Hold still,” he told Valjean, who watched, somewhat warily, when Javert reached into the valise he’d brought.

Javert saw his eyes narrow when he pulled out a handful of silken ribbons. He’d bought them a week ago in the market, from a vendor who’d believed that Javert was purchasing a trinket to bring home to a pretty grisette.

Javert could have laughed and let the vendor believe that story. Instead, he’d shaken his head, amused, and told the man that his purchase was to decorate his stallion’s mane.

“That must be some stallion,” the man had said, dubiously—and rightly so. Silk was expensive, after all; brightly colored cotton surely would do for a horse.

Yet it was a fine stallion indeed Javert was decorating now, powerful muscles trembling, headstrong and stubborn and all the sweeter for when he surrendered to Javert’s demands.

Valjean’s hair had never grown back into the ragged long mess he’d worn tied back in Montreuil, nor would Javert have stood for it here in Paris. Still, he let him keep his hair long enough to bury his hands in, and it hadn’t been cut since this plan had first begun to form in Javert’s mind.

It wasn’t quite the red stallion’s stunning mane, but Javert wouldn’t have wanted any other by his side for this trial.

“I told you. You’re going to look your best for me today,” he said to Valjean, who jerked his head back in realization when Javert approached with the ribbons.

Javert laughed softly, amused by Valjean’s antics. “Is it going to be another handful of red stripes on your haunches today? It’s your choice.”

Valjean exhaled heavily, eyes blazing dark and dangerous, but when Javert came closer, he sullenly bent his head.

“Better,” Javert murmured when he began to braid the first ribbon into Valjean’s hair.

He hadn’t quite known what color to go with at first, but then he’d settled on different shades of green, from the sea-foam color of his own silken cravat to a light leaf green.

Valjean was still breathing heavily, and Javert smoothed a hand down his oiled back when he was done.

“Good.”

He liked the way the ribbons looked in Valjean’s hair. When he ran, they’d flutter in the wind, and while he’d lack the elegance of the pretty, red stallion, Javert doubted that there was any stallion more powerful in all of France.

Next, he got out the tack. This, Valjean was familiar with, and Javert had decided to keep the leather they were both used to. In the privacy of their home, Javert used simple straps of black leather, but for this occasion, Javert had had a harness made—black leather, subtly embossed, rings and buckles made from bronze that had been polished with military precision until they shone like the tack of an officer’s horse on parade.

The harness strapped in place around Valjean’s chest, black leather crossing pale skin, dividing it into sections. Further straps of leather he buckled into place around Valjean’s thighs, ankles, upper arms and wrists. These were not only decorative, but also held polished rings that could be used to chain Valjean in whichever position Javert liked.

Valjean’s chest was already heaving although Javert had not made him run yet, his muscles hard and straining against the leather. Javert ran his hand over his chest, thrilling at the sensation.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his mouth against Valjean’s, and after a moment Valjean relaxed, his mouth opening to Javert’s.

Next was the bridle. Javert had toyed with the idea of using the spiked bit. It was a cruel instrument and was certain to leave an impression. Even now, it waited in his little valise. The mere thought of Valjean looking up at him helplessly, eyes dark with pain and still offering up his utter surrender, was enough to force him to grip himself through his trousers and rearrange his aching cock.

Still, it would not be fair to ask Valjean to suffer that particular mouthpiece for hours. Furthermore, Javert found it to be far more effective when reserved for a special occasion, or an actual act of rebellion that deserved severe punishment.

He held out the bridle to Valjean, the bar of gleaming iron offered on his palm. Valjean exhaled, then his eyes softened and he bent his head, his lips warm against Javert’s skin as he took the bit willingly. Javert ran his hand up Valjean’s neck in a brief caress before he fastened the dangling leather straps around the back of Valjean’s head.

This bridle was more elaborate than what Valjean was used to, but he didn’t protest when Javert fastened additional straps that ran all the way up to the top of his head. Still, Valjean’s eyes widened when the bridle settled into place and he suddenly found his field of vision vastly diminished. He shook his head lightly, but he remained calm, even with the blinkers making it impossible to see anything except for what was right in front of him.

Affectionately, Javert teased his hair and the silken ribbons out from underneath the leather straps.

“There. That will help with the red stallion, I should think,” he said and laughed when Valjean exhaled through his nose and shook his head again, the ribbons fluttering. “Behave now.”

He held out a lump of sugar on his palm, and after a moment Valjean bent his head again in surrender, taking it with soft, warm lips, the iron bit that forced his mouth open making it more awkward.

“You will be on your best behavior today.” Javert lightly ran his hand down Valjean’s oiled chest, hard muscles flexing against his skin. “Because you know it’ll be the whip for you otherwise, and I don’t care who is there to watch it.”

As always, the threat made his cock throb with sudden hunger. Javert ignored it. There were other things at stake—and better things to indulge himself with later.

“And also because you _are_ good. Because you want to obey. Because you like pleasing me.”

Valjean was still breathing heavily, but after a moment, he bent his head again, cheek nuzzling against Javert’s shoulder, and when Javert slung an arm around him, he found that much of the tension had gone out of Valjean.


	2. Chapter 2

Valjean could feel his heart beating in his chest, his pulse thundering in his ears—louder than the sounds of the small arena he found himself in. There was an audience—of course there was an audience. He’d known that there would be, and he’d been afraid that it would be impossible to bear their eyes on him.

But that hadn’t turned out to be true. All he could feel was the sand beneath his feet, the steady, dull throbbing of his cock, achingly hard and with no hope for release anytime soon—and the jingling of the harness worn by the stallion called Red, somewhere nearby.

The blinkers Javert had put on him made it difficult to make out much of his surroundings. His vision was focused on what was right in front of him, as if he was perpetually walking through a tunnel. Much of the time, he could not even see Javert—but it was enough to hear his voice, and Valjean had followed obediently, even into an arena where his naked, aroused body was on display for a hungry audience.

Fortunately it turned out that it was difficult to feel shame when Javert’s firm hand held his reins and even the smallest hesitation was punished with a tug reminding Valjean of the iron bit in his mouth. With every step, the tail brushed against the back of Valjean’s thighs, as soft as silk—and with every step, the plug it was fastened to massaged him within, as hard and relentless as Javert as it spread him open, reminding him that he belonged to Javert in every way possible.

It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. With the tail inside him, the bit in his mouth and the blinkers that made it impossible to see most of his surroundings, all of his attention had to be focused on Javert and his hold on the reins to keep up with where Javert wanted him to go.

Valjean knew vaguely what was going to take place—Javert had told him, of course, before bringing him here, and Valjean had flushed and not quite been able to believe it. Now he could see for himself that Javert had been right, which also meant that the trials to come would happen as Javert had said they would.

Just like Valjean, Javert had never attended a gathering like this before. They were both new to this—and for Javert especially, there was much at stake. If Valjean wanted to help—and he did, even if it meant having eyes on him, witnesses to his absolute surrender to Javert’s demands—then he’d have to do his best today, because everyone else in the arena with him was familiar with what was to come.

Valjean had been half-afraid that it would start with hands on him—strangers’ hands, which he’d felt before, long ago, in very different circumstances. Instead, for their first trial, Javert put him through his paces.

It was hard to walk with the plug inside him, harder still to run, the stretch and the penetration making him ache with every step he took. His cock was as hard as iron, jutting out from his body as he trotted through the arena, Javert holding his reins. Distantly, Valjean could hear the sounds of their audience, and he flushed.

There had been eyes on his naked body before, many times—unkind eyes, unkind hands. This wasn’t anything like those dark moments he’d known.

Valjean tongued at the bit in his mouth, breathing heavily, ashamed at the way he couldn’t keep saliva from running down his chin. But when Javert touched his thigh with his crop, he obeyed and raised his knees higher, the plug inside him grinding against the spot that made his cock ache relentlessly.

He was surprised to find himself close to the red stallion when Javert brought him to a stop. Unlike him, the other contestant seemed in his element in the arena. His smooth skin had been oiled to a shine, his harness consisting of golden chains rather than the utilitarian black leather straps that harnessed Valjean’s own body.

When he saw Valjean, Red shook his head, his harness jingling melodiously and his firm body flexing as he gave Valjean a derisive look. He was just as hard as Valjean, although less endowed, and just like Valjean, his genitals were surrounded tightly by a ring—a ring of gold, to go with his bejeweled harness.

Valjean shifted uneasily, the murmur of their audience suddenly appearing louder than before as he hunched his shoulders. What were they saying? What were they thinking, to see him next to this smooth, pampered stallion beside him? He should never have allowed Javert to bring him here. He didn’t belong in this place, no more than an old, scarred draft horse belonged on the parade ground.

“Stand still, “ Javert said and tightened his hold on the reins, the iron bit digging into the corners of his mouth until Valjean was forced to take a step back and lower his head to release the pressure.

“Not very obedient, is he?” a voice said.

A moment later, a man came into view, followed by another, and Valjean realized that the next part of the trials had begun.

“Oh, he’s obedient,” Javert said. “But he’s not used to competition.”

Valjean drew in a shaky breath when a hand smoothed down his back. With the blinkers, he couldn’t see who was touching him—or how many. All he could see was the sliver of arena right in front of him.

He held still as a hand curved around his buttocks.

“Come and look at the haunches on this one! Someone brought an old draft horse.”

Valjean flushed at the laughter that followed, desperately wishing he could catch a glimpse of Javert. Then the reins slightly shifted, the bit pulling at the corners of his mouth, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him focus on the ache of it. He clung to that reminder that it was Javert who held his reins, Javert who had asked this of him—Javert whom he had to please, no matter what anyone else might say.

“A fine stallion,” a different voice said.

He’d approached from behind, and so Valjean had no face to go with the voice and the touch of hands, smooth with silken gloves, that now stroked down his sides. “Powerfully built. Impressive haunches. A nice, deep chest.”

Valjean trembled as the hand ran over his chest, gently squeezing his pectorals, a thumb toying with a nipple until he tongued his bit again, breathing heavily.

“Perhaps not built for the racetrack, but a stud like that would sire fine hunters.” The hand slid lower, then grasped Valjean’s cock. A muffled moan escaped from the back of Valjean’s throat when a finger teased the wet tip. “Sensitive too. Here, feel this. Virile, despite his age.”

Valjean panted when the gloved hand palmed his balls, weighing them. Javert’s crop lightly touched the inside of his thigh and he obediently spread his legs further, trying to hold back the sound that wanted to break free when another hand, ungloved, ran up his cock and lightly pinched the slick tip.

“The size of him is certainly impressive.” Someone chuckled. “I like a well-hung stallion—but only when they’ve been taught to know their place.”

“He knows his place,” Javert said curtly, and then Valjean felt the gloved hand lift his tail, fingertips running around the stretched rim of his hole to inspect even there.

“Very nice.” His tail was released, then his buttocks were squeezed once more while the second man moved on to handle his balls. “It’s just a shame about these. Did you break him in?”

It took Valjean long moments to release that they were talking about his scars. A third man had appeared—this time in his fields of vision, grasping his chin and tilting his head back to inspect his mouth. Valjean let it all happen, his heart pounding in his chest at the firm grasp around his throat while other hands stroked his buttocks, toyed with his balls, inspected him as if he truly were a horse for sale at a fair.

“Not all the marks are mine,” Javert said. “But I broke him in myself. I am the only master he’s ever known.”

“He doesn’t quite compare to Red in the arena,” the gloved man’s voice said, almost sadly. “Last year’s champion—you’ve seen how he moves. Hard to match that elegance. But your stud will fetch high marks for conformation. We’ll see if the other judges agree with me, of course—but I’m willing to look past the scars. He’s beautifully muscled. Not even Red has such a nice round ass.”

Valjean jerked forward in shock when the man slapped his buttocks, although Javert immediately gave his reins a warning shake. Then the man stepped in front of him, grasping his chin as others had before him, and angled his face up and into the light.

“Older than what we usually see here, but very nice indeed,” he said, his thumb sliding along Valjean’s wet bottom lip, jarring the bit lightly while Valjean panted through his mouth.

Even with the man right in front of him, he couldn’t see much of him. He was older than Javert by perhaps twenty years, his hair gray and elegantly curled. He carried himself with a military bearing—had Valjean encountered him walking in the Luxembourg, he would have taken him for a retired officer. And yet he wasn’t dressed like a soldier. He was dressed in a hunting coat of brown wool, his waistcoat elaborately embroidered with thread of gold, his shirt a waterfall of fine white lace ruffles, his cravat of sleek silk.

“An intriguing mouth,” he murmured. Valjean found himself tonguing the bit again, watching the man breathlessly. “He is good with it?”

“Soft and responsive,” Javert said, and Valjean shivered, not quite certain why, at the pride in Javert’s voice.

The man smiled and released his chin, then lightly stroked his side as Valjean breathed through his nose. “Beautiful. I’m glad you brought him to us. He’s a fine addition—and our red stallion there can do with more competition.”

Valjean lowered his head, staring at the sand beneath his feet. He was barefoot while the men milling around him wore riding boots like Javert, dark leather polished until it shone.

Further hands prodded at his backside, made him arch his back as they slid to his hole to test the stretch of the plug, and Javert murmured gentle encouragement to him.

Javert _was_ proud—Valjean could hear it in his voice. Javert had been proud for as long as he’d known him, of course—proud of what he’d achieved, proud that he’d left behind his humble beginnings—but now, perhaps for the first time, he was proud of Valjean. Proud of showing him off.

Valjean knew he should be ashamed. To surrender to Javert in the privacy of their bedroom was one thing—but now countless strangers had seen him dressed up and subdued in the most humiliating way imaginable.

But Valjean didn’t feel humiliated. He did feel embarrassed—but his blood was still burning, his cock achingly hard, and even with the hands of strangers on him, all he could feel was the weight of Javert’s gaze on him, Javert’s approval, Javert’s arrogant pleasure and the affection beneath it.

Valjean exhaled again through his nose like the stallion he was, then lightly stamped his foot, and the stranger who was currently running his fingers over the muscles of his stomach moved back with a laugh.

“I think he’s had enough of us.”

Javert gave the reins another warning tug, and Valjean allowed himself to shake his head in brief rebellion before he fell still once more, bending his head and breathing deeply. Something inside him was aflutter. He was almost glad now for the blinkers and the way they so harshly restricted his line of view. All he had to do was close his eyes and then he could pretend that it was true—that he was nothing more than a stallion shown off before a group of judges, priced by his master...

“He has enough when I say so,” Javert said, but although he spoke firmly, he reached out to touch Valjean’s cheek, his fingers gently.

Valjean turned his head to lean into the touch, rubbing his cheek against Javert’s hand, his bridle jingling. 

“He’s lovely,” the stranger who’d backed off a moment ago said warmly. “Nothing more beautiful than a stallion who truly wants to please his master.”

“He can be rather lovely, if he wants to,” Javert conceded.

His thumb stroked along Valjean’s mouth, and Valjean parted his lips and tried to suck it into his mouth despite the bit.

Javert laughed. “Patience,” he murmured. “We’re nearly done here, I think.”

Javert loosened his hold on the reins as one by one, the men who’d surrounded Valjean, touching and prodding and judging, walked off to the next contestant.

Gently, Javert stroked his oil-slick flank and allowed Valjean to twist in his grasp until he had a view of the other stallions lined up around him. To his right was the red stallion, smooth skin gleaming with oil, holding himself arrogantly straight as one of the men judging the competition drew an admiring hand down the elegant line of his back—a back that was smooth and unmarked by scars.

Valjean swallowed and hastily shifted again, his bridle jingling as he turned to watch the happenings to his left.

The stallion that stood there looked older than Red by about ten years, his body firm with muscle—and unlike the arrogant red stallion, he was smiling at Valjean as if he’d been waiting for him to turn his head.

He wasn’t as ostentatiously decorated as Red, although his owner had put great care into his outfit. He had the tanned olive skin of the Mediterranean and a head of black curls, dark as a raven’s wings. His harness was soft, brushed calfskin in honey-brown, adorned with buckles of gleaming silver. Small rings of silver pierced his nipples, his cock was clasped tightly at the base by a silver ring. It was a fine cock, too—thick and long and so hard that it curved upward. When a judge stroked it as if to judge its hardness, he proudly arched his back, wetness beading at the tip, still smiling at Valjean who belatedly felt himself flushing and hastily averted his head.

“Don’t worry,” another man said. “Raven’s a friendly one. He likes other stallions.”

When Valjean reluctantly raised his head again, he found the other stallion still smiling at him, not only unashamed of the hands currently fondling him but clearly enjoying their attention.

“He seems to have recovered well,” one of the judges said, appreciatively squeezing his buttocks. “We missed you and Raven last year. It’s good to have you back, Delisle.”

Delisle, who had to be Raven’s master, patted Raven’s shoulder affectionately, then loosened his reins when the judges moved on to the next stallion down the line.

“He hurt his leg last year,” he explained to Javert. “That’s why Red was last year’s champion.”

It was obvious that Raven would be Red’s main rival today. The man was beautiful, in his prime, his body firmly muscled yet elegant, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted and moving like an athlete—the sort of man at ease in a fencing school and not a quarry.

As Valjean watched warily, the dark-haired stallion came closer, his eyes warm. Embarrassment rose up in Valjean once more at the thought of what he had to see—Valjean’s body, which had been used for hard work for most of his life, the brutal scars even more shocking next to the beautiful bodies on display in the arena.

Instead of sneering at him like the red stallion, Raven approached curiously. When Valjean didn’t retreat, Raven bent his head and playfully nuzzled against his shoulder.

“I told you, he’s friendly with other stallions.” Delisle laughed softly. “Always exciting when there’s a newcomer in the arena. I think Raven has already found his favorite.”

The raven stallion looked up at Valjean, eyes gleaming mischievously—utterly unembarrassed by his nudity or the iron bar in his mouth. He straightened, then leaned in again, breathing warm air against Valjean’s cheek.

“He likes him a lot, it seems. And I can see why.”

Valjean kept still, shocked and uncertain, when Raven scented him, so close now that he could feel his warm skin brush against his own.

“What a very fine specimen.” Delisle’s hand stroked down Valjean’s back. “Such strength! Impressive. What’s his name?”

“Doré,” Javert said, and a shiver ran through Valjean.

Raven’s wet cheek brushed against his, the scent of the other man thick in Valjean’s nose—the musk of arousal mingling with a warm, spicy perfume from the oil that made Raven’s skin gleam. Raven made a soft sound, his cock pressing firm and hot against Valjean’s thigh.

“He certainly likes you, Doré. I’m glad Red has more competition this year.”

A moment later, the affectionate stallion was gently led back to his former position, leaving Valjean behind dazed and uncertain about the other stallion’s intentions. He had seemed friendly—but Valjean knew what he looked like next to Raven.

All the men in this place were rich, powerful, or well-connected. No other had slept on the hard planks of the prison hulks for nineteen years. No other knew what it felt like when the whip was wielded by the state and not the hand of an indulgent lover. The scars that marked him weren’t memories of men he’d loved, or at least submitted to willingly and with joy. They marked him as a convict, a criminal. Would Raven be just as affectionate if he knew?

“He really is a friendly one,” Javert said.

Valjean watched jealously as Javert held out a hand. Immediately, Raven leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against Javert’s palm. Javert laughed indulgently—and had he ever acted that way with Valjean?—and reached into his pocket. He drew out another lump of sugar, which Raven took eagerly from his palm.

Something twisted in Valjean’s stomach and he shook his head, trying to dislodge the sudden jealousy. He could see for himself how beautiful the other stallion was—and unlike the arrogant red stallion, Raven appeared to be affectionate and kind, eager to make friends. More importantly, Raven already had a master—a master more indulgent than Javert, too. Raven wouldn’t be as eager for Javert’s touch if he knew just how relentless Javert could be with the riding crop.

But then, perhaps there’d be no need for Javert to discipline Raven. Raven was everything Valjean was not and would never be.

Valjean shook his head again, bridle jingling. Frowning, Javert returned to pick up his reins, tightening his hold on them until Valjean was forced to meet his gaze.

“Behave,” Javert warned. “I’ve told you what will happen if you don’t. I have no scruples about letting you taste the crop again right here in the arena, if it’s necessary.”

Valjean breathed deeply, raising his head rebelliously, but then thought better of it. He’d promised Javert to do his best today, to prove that Javert deserved a place among these people, even if Valjean couldn’t truly compete with any of the other stallions on show. Furthermore, with perfectly behaved and irritatingly friendly Raven right next to him, he couldn’t afford to annoy Javert. Surely Raven never made his master raise the whip.

Sullenly, Valjean lowered his head in submission, staring at Javert’s boots. A moment later, Javert came closer and ran a soothing hand down his back.

“Easy now,” Javert murmured. “I know it’s a lot. But I know what you can do—and you can do better than this.”

There was no lump of sugar for Valjean, but Javert’s hand curved around his nape and everything else fell away—their host, the arena, Raven, Red and their audience. 

Valjean leaned forward and lowered his head against Javert’s shoulder, and for a moment he just breathed, Javert’s familiar scent mingling with the scent of leather and sweat and sand. When Javert released him, he felt more at ease—although the final trial was yet to come.


	3. Chapter 3

It took a while until the judges had worked their way down the proudly lined up stallions in the arena. From what Javert had seen during the first two trials, he had no doubt that either Raven or Red would emerge victorious—Red and his master certainly seemed sure of their triumph, although the red stallion was far too conceited for Javert’s taste. If he’d been Javert’s, Javert would have been sorely tempted to take the riding crop to his pretty hide and see if that taught him better manners. For all of Valjean’s bad habits and fits of sullenness, at least he’d never displayed such brazen arrogance. Valjean knew his place—Javert doubted that Red did.

Raven, on the other hand, seemed close to the ideal to Javert: strong, beautiful, his surrender not only willing but eager, openly affectionate and tactile. He was everything Valjean could be—if Valjean were fifteen years younger and less given to fits of temper.

But then, there was a great satisfaction in seeing the change Javert had wrought in Valjean, in knowing himself responsible for Valjean’s pleasing manners—and in handing out the discipline that kept him docile. Raven was without doubt lovely, but Javert couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the challenge Valjean posed.

There was nothing as satisfying as knowing himself Jean Valjean’s true master—and knowing that, in turn, a part of his heart had been mastered by Valjean as well.

“You like this part,” Javert said, loosening the reins and stroking Valjean’s back. “You’re good at it. You know you are.”

Valjean looked at him, his eyes shadowed by the blinkers. Even hidden in darkness it was unmistakable how wide and dark his eyes were, how utterly Valjean had given himself over to this thing Javert had asked of him.

And Valjean was beautiful, more beautiful than the pretty red stallion or handsome Raven. Javert knew every inch of Valjean’s powerful body. Javert knew the scars on his back, and what had caused them—and still Valjean went soft and overwhelmed with surrender for him, willingly opened his mouth for his bridle and spread his legs to let Javert slide the plug in.

Javert smiled at Valjean. “Let’s show them just who they are competing against.”

Red and Raven’s masters had, of course, brought their own open chaises for the trial. Javert’s budget might have stretched to new tack for Valjean and clothes for himself, but it certainly didn’t stretch that far. Fortunately, a light, two-wheeled gig was available for those who’d traveled with only their stallion, and Javert had soon fastened Valjean to it. Valjean was harnessed more for the pretty effect of chains and leather against straining, oil-slick muscles—the true work would be done by Valjean’s arms, his hands clutching the two wooden shafts to each side of him.

While the stallions were harnessed to their chaises, the course was set up in the arena. Every stallion would have to pull his master not only around the arena, but would also have to show his skill by taking turns to go through gates and weave between poles without missing a single obstacle or allowing the cart to touch a pole. Furthermore, every contestant was timed.

Javert had tried to prepare Valjean as much as possible for the event, but they’d only been able to try it once—late at night when everyone was asleep, in the fire horses’ barn close to the Prefecture, where the large fire engines slept. Still, Javert had no fear that they’d embarrass themselves. Valjean had the strength and stamina to excel at this task, and he was astute enough to understand from just one inspection of the course what they were supposed to do.

In any case, they were not the first to go. They’d drawn the number six, enabling them to observe several of their rivals. Javert turned Valjean so that he had a good view of the arena and let him watch as the first stallions competed.

The audience was appreciative of the spectacle, loud now as they hadn’t been for the first two trials. Every stallion was greeted with cheers. All of them, as far as Javert could see, gave their best, although not many seemed to take it for the test it was, laughing as they ran through the arena, a few of them even prancing for the crowd or playfully shaking manes and tails decorated with little bells.

Valjean wouldn’t have much of a competition when it came to this task—Red, pretty creature that he was, lacked the strength, even though Javert didn’t doubt that he could be fast without a weight to pull.

Raven, on the other hand, was strong, though not as strong as Valjean. And yet Raven was fifteen years younger and an old champion at this game. Unless Javert was very mistaken, this trial would be decided between Raven and Valjean.

When a judge waved to them, he tapped Valjean’s shoulder with the riding crop and watched as Valjean’s muscles tensed. Valjean pulled the chaise easily, taking them to the starting position, and the crowd cheered when his muscular, oiled body was displayed for them once more. Valjean’s cock was still standing proudly upright, the plug inside him keeping him breathless and trembly, and Javert realized all of a sudden that even if they should lose to Raven, he wouldn’t mind at all. He’d already won a greater price than the rosette the champion would take home.

Javert held the reins lightly. He wouldn’t need them—Valjean knew the layout of the course as well as he did. Together, they waited, Valjean’s body tense, and when the signal came, Valjean was off a split moment before Javert could react.

Valjean ran, pulling the chaise easily. Javert couldn’t help but admire the bunched muscles of his shoulders as he labored.

They were fast—not as fast as lithe Red, perhaps, had Valjean been pitched against the other stallion without a weight to pull. Yet in this trial, Valjean’s strength made all the difference.

Valjean ran as if he had no chaise and driver to pull, the white tail fluttering behind him. Javert slapped his powerful buttocks with his crop for the sheer joy of it, startled himself when Valjean seemed to draw strength from somewhere and ran even faster.

They had to slow down a little when the line of poles appeared before them, and for a moment, Javert feared that they would miss the first marker. And yet, once more Valjean’s immense strength was on display. He threw himself around the pole, and by sheer force of muscle alone made the chaise he was pulling turn with him, so that Javert, startled despite his knowledge of his stallion’s unrivaled prowess, had to grab hold of the side of the chaise.

Already Valjean was making another turn—slower now as he wove skillfully in and out between markers with the chaise, but still fast and without sign of tiring. Once they emerged at the end of the line of poles, he picked up speed again, running as fast as Doré once had until they crossed the finishing line.

Only then did Javert realize that the arena had been silent, stunned by the strength on display. Now the audience erupted in cheers for them, and Javert let go of the reins, vaulted out of the chaise, and went to stand before Valjean. Wet with sweat, chest heaving, his cock still proudly erect, Valjean had never looked more appealing. Javert drew him close, tracing over his slick chest with his hand while Valjean’s heart thudded painfully fast against his palm.

“Well done,” Javert said roughly.

It didn’t matter who was going to win the championship—after this display, surely no one could doubt that Javert owned one of the finest stallions on display. But more than the subterfuge they’d come here for, Javert’s own blood was hot with desire and triumph. If there had been no audience at all, no judges to reward rosette and wreath, he would have been just as pleased, his blood just as hot.

“Truly, there is no finer stallion in the world,” he murmured, the words for Valjean’s ears alone.

Valjean exhaled shakily and closed his eyes, resting his sweaty head against Javert’s shoulder. They stood that way for a while, coming apart only in time to watch Raven and Red compete.

As Javert had thought, Red’s youthful build was a disadvantage in this trial, although he made a pretty picture, his mane and tail fluttering behind him as he pulled his chaise, knees raised high. There were cheers for him, but it was apparent to everyone watching that Red was far slower than Valjean had been—slower even than some of the other competitors.

Raven ran last, and Javert was amused to feel Valjean stiffen next to him. It seemed that Valjean had a competitive streak—who would have thought? Or perhaps Valjean was merely worried that Javert would be displeased should he lose this task, which was certainly foolish, but Valjean had always been given to bizarre ideas.

Raven was a pleasure to watch. He had to be in his thirties and had the firm muscles of a man who spent hours every day engaged in athletic exercise. He was pleasing to look at, a picture of virile strength, and affectionate and sweet-natured to boot. Yet even Raven did not measure up to the brutal strength of Jean Valjean, whose body was formed like that of a Greek hero immortalized in marble. 

Raven, like Valjean, was able to pull his master’s chaise with ease. Together, they watched as Raven ran—surely as fast a Valjean, Javert thought with some regret. While Javert hadn’t set out to win this competition, he was amused to note that the exhilarating trial had woken a hope in him after all.

He rested a hand on Valjean’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly in reassurance, and felt some of the tension go out of Valjean. They would not win, they both knew that. Still, Valjean had done his best—had truly done better than Javert had ever hoped. He’d surrendered to indignities just because Javert had asked it of him and had done so beautifully, for the most part. That was enough.

The first markers rose up out of the ground in front of Raven. For all that he’d been able to run as fast as Valjean on even ground, now, to his great surprise, Javert saw him slow down. Valjean had been able to change direction at great speed, using his immense strength to force the cart to take the curves with him. Raven, for all that he was strong, lacked the raw power to copy that feat. While he swerved in and out between the poles without a single fault, he was forced to do so more slowly than Valjean.

When Raven and his master raced towards the finish line, Javert and Valjean waited with bated breath—and then the judge at the finish, pocket watch in hand, announced his time.

Raven had been a whole five seconds slower than Valjean. The small crowd once more erupted into amazed cheers, and Valjean released an audible breath, turning to rest his head on Javert’s shoulder.

“Look at that,” Javert murmured, touched. “I believe I’ll owe you a reward once we’re back home. I never thought—”

“Congratulations,” Delisle said, laughing from his chaise. He didn’t seem displeased at all. “It’s the first time in years Raven lost this part of the trials. You should be very proud.”

Valjean raised his head suspiciously when their competitors came closer, but although he’d just lost a race to Valjean, Raven didn’t seem angered by it. Wet with sweat, chest still heaving, he stood still when his master stopped the chaise and descended. Then Raven took another step forward to smile at Valjean, dark locks damp with perspiration and the iron bit still in his mouth.

“It’s just one challenge out of three,” Javert said, watching as Raven took another step towards a wary Valjean. “I have no doubt that you will have done very well in this championship—better than the two of us.”

“Perhaps,” Delisle said and laughed. “Though I think Red is in line for the championship again—good at prancing around for an audience.”

“You haven’t seen half of what this one can do.” Javert ran a possessive, admiring hand over Valjean’s strong shoulders. “Here—there won’t be any trophy in it, but let me show you.”

He motioned towards the chaise. It was small, but there was just enough space for the three of them if Raven clung on to the back.

“Surely you can’t mean—” Delisle began.

Javert loosened the reins and gave Valjean an encouraging pat with the crop. Valjean’s grip on the wooden shafts tightened. A moment later, the chaise began to move.

Valjean moved slowly—instead of running through the arena, he was forced to walk, panting audibly. His muscles bunched, his powerful body straining against the weight, but he pulled the weight of all three of them regardless.

Javert couldn’t look away from the seductive display, entranced by the hard muscles of Valjean’s broad shoulders and the gleaming droplets of sweat that ran down oiled skin, gathering at the small of Valjean’s back before trickling down the crease between his buttocks to where the plug was seated. His muscular buttocks worked as regularly and powerfully as the haunches of a draft horse—and the marks of the crop were still visible on his skin, three hot, red lines that proclaimed Javert’s mastery over him, and which Valjean bore as proudly as the red stallion his gem-studded tack.

When Valjean stopped at the other side of the arena, Javert became aware that the crowd had hushed, watching the display. Now, when he descended the chaise to stand by Valjean once more, running his hand down his heaving, sweat-slick chest, he could hear the murmurs of amazement.

He touched Valjean’s cheek, listened to his rapid breathing, pressed his thumb lightly to where Valjean’s lips parted for the bit.

“The finest stallion in all of Paris,” he murmured hoarsely. “Can you doubt it after that display?”

“I would argue with that,” Delisle said laughingly, “but I will concede that he is certainly the finest after my Raven. What a sight that was!”

Valjean shivered against Javert when Delisle ran an admiring hand down Valjean’s back, then kneaded his marked buttocks. Valjean made a soft sound, his mouth open, but made no move to try and escape the touch.

“I’d ask if I could borrow him off you for a weekend if I weren’t so certain what the answer would be.” With a light slap to Valjean’s backside, Delisle came to stand by Javert once more.

Together, they watched as the mischievous raven-haired stallion came to nuzzle against Valjean’s side instead. They made a very pretty picture, Javert had to admit, even though Valjean still didn’t seem entirely certain what to think of the affectionate stallion’s attention.

“There used to be an old tradition,” Delisle said quietly. “The winner got to mount his rival…”

Javert watched as Valjean shivered instinctively, Raven blowing warm air against his nape. Raven did have a pretty cock—and he was so friendly that Javert didn’t doubt he’d make it good for Valjean, too.

“I can see the appeal of that tradition.”

Javert noted the way Valjean watched him from shocked, dark eyes. His chest was heaving again as if he’d been forced to run another round, his cock swollen a dark red, wet at the tip.

“I doubt that we’ll take the trophy home this year,” Delisle said with a small sigh of regret. “But now—I’d wish it more for your lovely stallion’s sake rather than to teaching Red a lesson...”

Valjean exhaled, dark eyes still on Javert, fearful—and yet there was no doubt that the idea of it aroused him as much as it troubled him. He’d flushed all over, but he hadn’t tried to shift away from Raven’s affections—nor had he tried to distract Javert from the turn their conversation had taken.

“If Raven were to win—you’d be amenable?” Delisle asked. “He’s never disappointed any stallion he’s serviced.”

Javert swallowed as he reached out to grip Valjean’s face once more, his thumb teasing at his lip. Valjean made a soft sound and tried to suck his thumb into his mouth, the motion made clumsy by the iron bit in his mouth. He’d seen Valjean like that before—shivery and shaky and ready to yield to anything Javert asked of him, eyes dazed and soft with the utter surrender that set Javert’s own blood churning with sharp lust.

“If he wins,” Javert murmured, “ask me again.”

***

The final banquet was taking place in a grand ballroom decorated with flowers. All around them, mirrors gleamed. Paintings hung from the walls, and risqué sculptures were displayed on plinths. There would be food served soon—but for now, glasses of wine awaited them, and several buckets of water stood ready for the exhausted stallions.

Comfortable chairs had been provided while they waited for the winner’s announcement. Javert took a seat, loosely holding Valjean’s reins, and Valjean readily sank to his knees. Javert nodded towards the bucket of cool, clear water near his chair, noting with amusement the flush that rose to Valjean’s cheeks. A moment later, Valjean stuck his head into the bucket, bridle jingling as he drank, and when he raised his head again, water dripped from his face and ran down his chest. Warm eyes raised to Javert, Valjean moved a little closer, and Javert forgot all about the announcement that was to come as he buried his fingers in Valjean’s hair.

“You did very well today,” he said. “I wanted to show you off, and I did. I don’t need a trophy to tell me that you’re the finest stallion in this room. Ill-mannered at times, perhaps—but certainly worth taming.”

Valjean turned his head and breathed warm air against his palm. The iron in his mouth kept him from licking Javert’s skin, but he nuzzled Javert as best as he could and Javert let him, ignoring the water that still dripped from Valjean’s face as he let his eyes travel downward.

The ring of steel had done an admirable job. Valjean’s cock was still painfully hard, his testicles swollen. Javert imagined the pressure in them, the need for release after the constant stimulation by the plug inside him. Eventually, he’d take off the ring—but until then, the sight of Valjean in such a desperate state made his mouth dry and his own cock throb with hunger. Valjean truly was a vision of brutal virility, hard and straining, and just as brutally subdued by Javert’s hand.

“Ah, it’s time,” Delisle said, who’d taken the chair next to Javert, Raven’s face wet with water as well. Playfully, the stallion shook his head, droplets of water scattering.

Monsieur Neville approached—the very man Javert was supposed to keep an eye on, and yet Javert found it impossible to look away from Valjean. Javert reached out again, gently tracing along his mouth until Valjean exhaled with a soft sound of longing while the gathered crowd fell silent for the announcement of the winners.

It came as no great surprise to Javert that they had not emerged victorious from the first two trials. Raven had won the first trial, just as Javert had suspected—the stallion was exceedingly handsome and sweet-natured, and the judges inspecting his body so intimately had agreed. Pretty, lithe Red was named the winner of the second trial, who’d shown off to great advantage in the arena, loving the eyes on him. The third trial though—the third trial went to him and Valjean, and Javert couldn’t help a sudden swell of triumph that perhaps wasn’t entirely appropriate, given that he was not, in fact, solely here to compete.

But then, Javert wasn’t here on duty either. It was no official case that had brought him here. The man who had set him up with an invitation to the event had been careful to make certain that nothing of his request had been in writing. And in order for Javert to play the role convincingly—in order to become a part of this strange group of people so that someone very high up could keep a discreet eye on Neville—Javert had to be a part of it in truth, or they would immediately know him for the spy he was.

There was applause for the two of them. Valjean, still kneeling by his feet, looked up at him, eyes soft and hot with devotion, and Javert found himself reaching out again, running his thumb along Valjean’s bottom lip while Valjean strained closer with an aching sound.

Distantly, he heard their host announce with obvious amusement that both Red and Raven had achieved the same score, with Valjean a close second.

Near to him, Delisle laughed. “That’s a first! How will they split up the trophy? Shall each of us keep it for half a year?”

Red’s master scoffed. “I don’t share.”

“This time, it seems you will have to,” Delisle said, unperturbed, while Raven sat back on his knees and smiled up at him.

Javert took another sip of wine, Valjean’s breath warm against his palm.

“There’s one category we haven’t seen them perform in,” Neville said in only slightly accented French as he came up to them, lingering thoughtfully. He reached out to stroke Valjean’s rump, who shivered but held still for it, even when Neville traced along the fresh welts Javert’s crop had left.

“Reward and trial both. Let us judge these two by how they perform as studs, mounting a third. If you are amenable, of course?”

The question was for Javert, who had not set out this morning contemplating that such a thing might be asked of him. Valjean had always been his alone—and yet, the thought of Valjean’s powerful body mounted by another stallion was undeniably arousing. He’d seen Valjean come undone countless times, but never had he been able to observe him being put to use.

Javert moistened his lip, grasping hold of Valjean’s chin. Valjean had flushed, his eyes wide and apprehensive—but even so there was a heat within them Javert well knew. Valjean hadn’t pulled away from his touch—on the contrary, he now tilted his head to lean into it, breathing warm, quick huffs of air against his palm.

“I am,” Javert said, still watching Valjean, who flushed at his words and closed his eyes, another tremor running through him.

Javert had to release his reins when he stood to remove the tail to give the stallions access, but Valjean obediently remained in place, even though he knew what was coming. He was tense when Javert touched his thigh, but he spread his legs immediately, his body tightening around the plug he’d carried for so long before his hole reluctantly yielded to Javert’s demand. For a moment, Valjean gaped wide open, his hole stretched and red, and Javert stepped aside, letting their audience study him in appreciation as he returned to take his seat and grasp Valjean’s reins once more.

With the blinkers still on him, Valjean couldn’t see when they led the pretty red stallion up to him—but the voice of Red’s master made no secret of what he and Red thought of the event.

“Look at it,” the man said distastefully. “It’s like breeding a fiery Arab to an old draft horse.”

The pretty red stallion was still young—in his early twenties, immaculately beautiful, and aware of it. He still seemed to remember their encounter in the stable that morning, when Valjean had asserted his dominance with no more than a glare and a step forward and Red had instinctively given way.

But now Red was in power and Valjean restrained, his reins held tightly in Javert’s hands.

Red mounted Valjean with his head held high, arrogant eyes meeting Javert for a moment as he smirked despite the bit in his mouth. Javert could see the exact moment when he penetrated Valjean—Valjean made a soft, shocked sound before he fell silent, his eyes turning instinctively up at Javert as his mouth parted, his eyes dark and wet. Javert felt him shiver as he reached out to stroke Valjean’s cheek.

With the blinkers on, Valjean could see nothing of what happened behind him. All he saw was Javert in front of him; he could only feel the penetration, Red taking him with deep, arrogant thrusts. Red’s silken mane and the ribbons braided into it fluttered becomingly as he shook his head. He was a pretty sight, his muscles flexing as he worked himself into Valjean over and over again—with little regard for Valjean, who shivered regardless at the stimulation of the hard cock plunging into him without mercy.

As much as Valjean had disliked Red from the first, his cock was dripping with wetness for him, his thighs spreading to entice him deeper and his hips moving despite himself to push back into the penetration, to feel Red where he needed him.

But as pretty as Red looked, fucking Valjean with the single-minded obsession of an Arab stud with a mare in heat, Red seemed aware only of the eyes of their audience that rested on him, with no regards for the subtle signs of how Valjean felt about his performance.

Red came a minute later, pretty even when orgasm rippled through him and he buried himself balls-deep inside Valjean’s marked ass, his bridle jingling merrily as he panted with smug satisfaction. Yet although Valjean had flushed all over and was trembling, his cock an aching red and dripping fluid at the stimulation, Valjean hadn’t come.

Red pulled out, and Valjean closed his eyes and groaned. Javert let him rest his head on his knee, gently stroking his face as he watched Raven being led up to Valjean. Just like Red, Raven mounted Valjean willingly and eagerly. His cock was a very pleasing size, larger than Red’s, but Valjean was slick and loose enough now that Red count mount him with one thrust.

Valjean groaned again, unable to see who had taken Red’s place, and Javert ran his hands through Valjean’s hair.

Unlike the red stallion, Raven leaned forward over Valjean’s back once he’d sheathed his cock inside him, breathing tenderly against his nape before he set to work. Neither of them could speak, but even so the difference was obvious, Raven’s hips moving with slow, elegant precision, stretching Valjean open and working himself in and out until Valjean’s eyes had lost all focus as he panted on Javert’s knee.

Raven had found Valjean’s weak spot, and he set to work on it now. Despite his size, he penetrated Valjean with deep thrust after thrust—firmly, lovingly, knowing the pleasure the stimulation gave Valjean until Valjean was overcome with it. His head slid from Javert’s knee as his legs spread even wider and his back arched, Raven arching over him, slick with oil and sweat.

Javert leaned back in his chair. He rarely had an opportunity to watch Valjean come apart, and he was beautiful—the strong body in its harness so tense that his muscles strained against the leather.

Beads of sweat were rolling down Valjean’s body, his broad shoulders flexing as the affectionate stallion mounting him made him shiver with need with every thrust. Raven was beautiful, too—enjoying himself as much as Red had, no doubt, but focused as much on Valjean’s pleasure as his own. Although Raven’s sizable cock was flushed dark red with desperation, he kept servicing Valjean without succumbing to his own need for release until Valjean was trembling around him.

Saliva was dripping from Valjean’s lips, unintelligible moans coming from his lips as his back arched and his hips pushed back to take more of Raven. Long strings of clear fluid ran incessantly from his cock, pooling on the floor, although no one had touched Valjean’s cock since he’d been shown off in the arena. With another helpless groan, Valjean’s head came up, eyes shielded by the blinkers—but even without them, Javert doubted that he’d be able to see anything but Javert at that moment.

Javert watched Valjean as he moaned and trembled, fucked from behind by a stallion he couldn’t see—but it was Javert he was kneeling before, Javert whom he looked up to, eyes wide and liquid. And when Valjean finally found release with Raven’s cock deep inside him, his come spurting in white ribbons against his belly with each of Raven’s forceful thrusts, it was Javert Valjean gazed at as his body convulsed, his untouched cock jerking against his stomach with every spurt.

Raven seemed to have only waited for that moment. With his mouth nuzzling at Valjean’s nape once more, Raven’s hips came forward hard, his elegant rhythm broken as he shivered against him, spilling all he had to give deep inside Valjean while the audience made appreciative noises at his stamina.

Valjean looked dazed when Raven reluctantly pulled out at last, his pupils so wide Javert wondered if he even knew where he was at that moment. Javert gently touched his wet cheek and bent down to press a kiss to his head, then rose.

Valjean was gaping open once more, his hole loose and red. The swollen muscle quivered when Javert looked at it and convulsed, a thick trickle of Raven’s come leaking out of him. Valjean looked very used, but when Javert pressed the plug against his hole once more, it spread open wide for him, more come trickling out—Red’s or Raven’s, who could say?

It would stay inside Valjean in any case, for as long as the festivities lasted; the tail would make sure of that. Javert pushed until Valjean’s body swallowed the plug inside. Valjean moaned softly, breathless and exhausted, when it stimulated his sore hole and instinctively arched his back once more, the soft, white tail swishing seductively against his thighs.

Lovingly, Javert ran his hand over a round buttock, squeezing lightly, then returned to take his seat—and this time Valjean came forward, still panting, to push his face into Javert’s lap, searching out affection in the only way possible to him with the bit barring him from speaking. His hair was damp with sweat when Javert buried his hand in it, but Valjean made a soft, helpless sound and Javert kept stroking him lightly until he’d ceased trembling.

Next to him, the raven-haired stallion was kneeling at his own master’s feet, who was murmuring soft words of pride into his ear. Nevertheless, Raven turned his head to watch Valjean, and Javert found himself smiling at him, grateful that Raven had given Valjean such a good time.

Not that a part of Valjean hadn’t enjoyed it to be forced to surrender to arrogant Red. Valjean wouldn’t admit it, of course, but he’d always had a penchant for suffering. Even better when he was made to suffer for Javert.

He stroked Valjean’s hair again, thinking of the moment—soon, very soon—when he’d ease the bridle out of his mouth and Valjean would gratefully use his swollen lips to give Javert release. Maybe he’d make him keep the horse tail in all night so that Valjean would wake in the morning still stretched and loose, embarrassed to know his hole dripping with the come of two different stallions. What an entertaining morning that would be. And Javert had made certain to free the rest of the weekend to devote to Valjean.

Javert reached into his pocket for a lump of sugar. Valjean raised his head, but with a small smile Javert held his hand away from him—stretching it out towards Raven in offering, who immediately came closer, taking it eagerly from Javert’s palm with a huff of warm air. Valjean, it seemed, had begun to recover enough to come forward as well—still shy around the stallion that had serviced him so well, but too needy not to nudge Javert’s arm resentfully until Javert reached into his pocket again, laughing softly, and offered Valjean the lump of sugar he so deserved.

Valjean was a mess: exhausted, gleaming with oil and sweat, his face wet with saliva and tears. They wouldn’t take home the trophy today, Javert knew that—and even as Javert stroked Valjean’s face, he could hear Neville make the announcement.

It was Raven who gracefully received wreath of laurel leaves and the rosette pinned to his bridle, Raven’s master handed the golden trophy. Javert allowed Valjean to turn around so that he could watch, lightly running his hand over Valjean’s back.

“I hope you’re not disappointed?” Delisle said to him once he’d accepted the judges’ congratulations. “I wouldn’t have begrudged you the trophy, if you’d won. It was an incredible showing—especially for one who has not done it before.”

Javert shook his head. “It was enough to see him prove how well I trained him.”

That, and the fact that a certain man who’d sent him to infiltrate this place would be content to know that Javert had achieved a position that might become useful in the future. Still, at the moment, all thoughts of politics and secrets seemed very far away. And if it came to it, Javert realized, he’d be loath to have to use his position to spy on their host.

“It was a pleasure to have you with us,” Delisle said warmly. “I hope this won’t be the last time you bring your delightful stallion out?”

Javert watched as Valjean warily came forward. He held the reins loosely, allowing Valjean some freedom. After a moment’s hesitation, Valjean used that freedom to stretch his neck, lightly brushing his wet cheek against Raven’s, who made a pleased sound and shook his head when Valjean pulled back, bridle jingling merrily. His eyes gleamed mischievously, and Javert swallowed with helpless lust when he remembered the vision of Raven’s swollen cock sliding sweetly into Valjean’s willing hole.

Javert moistened his lips, his voice suddenly rough. “No. I doubt it will be the last time.”

Delisle laughed softly in understanding. “They are both very lovely, aren’t they,” he murmured. “And they did well. Perhaps we should turn them out to pasture together, sometime this summer. Raven’s very friendly, as I said. He’d treat him well.”

Javert saw a sudden vision of the two naked, oiled stallions frolicking in a meadow of verdant grass, sunshine illuminating their bodies, while he and Delisle watched. He thought of Valjean, bridled and blinkered, in a stable, dust dancing in the sunlight as Valjean was made to mount Raven instead, spending a long weekend learning how to service the affectionate stallion as well as he’d been serviced.

Valjean pulled back from Raven and came to contentedly rest his bridled head on Javert’s knee once more, making a soft sound of pleasure as Javert gently stroked his hair.

It seemed that there was a long summer of discovery ahead for both of them.


End file.
